See Ch. 1 for disclaimer.

Thanks to all my loyal reviewers! Not quite all the way to 100, but… (passes out slabs of Honeydukes chocolate anyway)

And now after that, I feel guilty about this chapter. Because it's almost pathetically short…

Oh well. In any case, here is:

Chapter 12

"Expelliarmus!"

The force of the uttered spell took Draco by surprise; his wand went sailing out of his hand and into the hand of his aunt, and Draco went down to the floor, feeling curiously as though all the breath had been knocked out of him.

Bellatrix Lestrange stepped out of the shadowed corner of the room, frowning openly. "You ought to be on your guard, Draco," she said harshly. "I believe I've told you that many times already."

"Yes, Aunt Bellatrix," Draco muttered. He struggled to his feet, and Bellatrix tossed him his wand. "Take your place," she said. "Let us see how much you have improved since the last time we met." She raised her own wand, and Draco prepared himself for the inevitable onslaught. She had the rather disorienting tendency to launch attacks, mental or physical, without warning, and Draco did not like that, the lack of knowledge as to which she would choose—

"Legilimens!"

Hastily and somewhat clumsily, Draco brought up his Occlumency shields, but Bellatrix's forceful mental attack seemed to simply charge full force into them, making the surface of his painstakingly wrought shields buckle up due to the strain. Parts of them did hold, but he winced slightly as her forceful, blunt attack punched through one section, making a break in his defence that could, most accurately, be visualised as a gaping fissure, its edges jagged and uneven.

And then Aunt Bellatrix was relentlessly pounding, assailing his memories…

… "Why was I named Draco in the first place?" He sat in the high, straight backed chair, his (still chubby with baby fat) legs swinging a full quarter of a foot above the ground. The windows were wide open, Narcissa Malfoy sitting in a regal pose at the piano and picking out a tune, before she turned to face him and smiled…

… "A Malfoy must be, above all, proud of his heritage." His father rested his hand on his shoulder, as they stood amid the ridiculously loud bustle at Platform Nine and Three Quarters. "Do not tolerate such slurs to your name and family in silence…"

… "Clueless fools," Daphne Greengrass said angrily, and looked on in disdain as she and Draco swung away from a group of giggling Hufflepuff second-years. "Lockhart's a damn idiot…"

…He tried hard to control the burning anger—and shame—that was slowly creeping its way up his face, as the school laughed and laughed at how thoroughly the Inquisitorial Squad had made fools of themselves, standing helplessly by as the Weasley twins whirled sharply around on their broomsticks and made their grand exit. Stupid! he thought. Just because Father said so, why do I have to flatter Umbridge? She's an asinine woman, and the only thing good about her is that she doesn't like Potter…

Bellatrix left his mind, and Draco staggered to one side. Glaring sullenly at his aunt, he said, his voice irritable, "Are you done now?"

Aunt Bellatrix's dark eyes glared back at him, a certain look in her eyes, which made Draco suddenly drop his own eyes to the floor.

"I'd have expected better of you," Bellatrix said coldly. "You are returning to Hogwarts tomorrow, Draco, and if you are unable to conceal your very thoughts, you will hardly be able to carry out your task."

Draco made sure to keep his eyes from meeting those of Bellatrix, and thought, Of course I can do well on my shields, dear Aunt Bellatrix, especially when you're smashing through them before I have a chance to learn to reinforce them at all. Merlin. No wonder you've never had children.

He was glad he could think these somewhat more uncharitable than should be towards family thoughts in his mind, since Aunt Bellatrix, although a Legilimens, was a brutal and heavy-handed Legilimens; she didn't have the finesse that allowed a more skilled one to skim the minds of nearby people on the surface and dive within the depths of the mind without having to look them in the eye. Now that, Draco thought, was a much more useful ability than Bellatrix's method. What was the point of launching a Legilimency attack if your subject knew about it and broke eye contact? And such a blatant probe, too. Hardly… Slytherin, really.

"You are still off guard," Bellatrix observed. Draco looked up now, looking at her mouth instead of her eyes. She had a familiar mouth, he thought to himself, his mother's mouth, the Black lips which tilted ever so slightly at the corner in what they called the "signature of Venus." Of course, the effect was promptly marred when she spoke and revealed her teeth; existing over a decade in Azkaban (because you couldn't live, never live, in that prison) had not been very kind to the status of her dentals. "You must have your Occlumency shields up at all times, not putting them up just when I perform Legilimency. Have you been practising?"

"Yes, I have," Draco replied, careful to keep the tone of exasperation out of his voice. "Every night, before I go to bed."

Bellatrix raised an eyebrow. Once upon a time, her minuscule action must have seemed regal, arrogant… Black… but now it was just a movement, a stretch of skin over her sunken, wasted face. "Then practise more."

With those words, she stepped forward. "You will have to practise raising your Occlumency shields," she continued, "maintaining them at all times. That way, no-one will know what you mean to do. Certainly not Snape." She spat the last word out like it was a particularly disgusting name.

"But Professor Snape's one of us, isn't he?" Draco asked, but without surprise; there was a faint air of forbearance about him, as he resigned himself to listening to another of Bellatrix's many tirades. Every other session or so, Aunt Bellatrix would inevitably end up railing against one of her fellow Death Eaters, whether it be Crabbe for not thinking quickly enough, or Rookwood for not respecting her enough, or Rodolphus Lestrange (her own husband) for not having a spine and a backbone enough, or even Evan Rosier for dying ("And leaving me to work with fools!" she snapped.).

"Oh, he says he is," she snarled. "Being all respectful before the Dark Lord, nodding and smirking and thinking he's all so great—he lives at Hogwarts, for Merlin's sake!"

Someone, Draco thought dryly, has a bad case of jealousy. Of course, Professor Snape does make a much better teacher than you, my dear aunt. Anyone would. "Well, he has to. He is a spy," he said cautiously and slowly, trying to sense Bellatrix's reaction.

"And you can never trust spies," Bellatrix returned, her eyes large and dark in her face, burning with some incandescent flame—Draco decided it was rage.

"And," Draco ventured, "he did promise Mother he would protect me this year."

Bellatrix sneered. "So he could get all the glory, I'm sure."

"What do you mean?" Draco said warily. He felt somewhat bound to defend his professor and Head of House; Snape had always been, if not exactly kind, impartial in his dealings with the Slytherins, and although he had never made any effort to endear himself to his students, the Slytherins respected him and felt strangely loyal to him. (And perhaps it was that feeling of experiencing the entire world set against them.)

"Exactly what I mean," said Bellatrix, and pressed her lips together. "Now, let's have some more practice, shall we, Draco? Expelliarmus!"

Draco dodged the jet of light that flew his way, dropping down into a slight crouch, his knees bent slightly so as to allow a breadth of movement in either direction. "Fresnan!"

Bellatrix did not blink an eye at the borderline Dark freezing curse; she blocked it with a nonverbal Scield, a spell nearly like Protego except that it split the stopped spell in two, sending two jets of light back towards Draco, who inwardly cursed and quickly jumped to one side, retaliating with a "Stupefy!"

And around ten minutes later, Draco lay on his back in the room, feeling much as he had felt at the very beginning of the session when Aunt Bellatrix had disarmed him. Bellatrix stepped over to his immobile body, having rendered him harmless with a swiftly cast Petrificus Totalus. "Finite Incantatem," she said lazily, and the stiffness left Draco's limbs.

As he sat up, rubbing ruefully at his sore back, Bellatrix said, "Good, Draco. Your duelling is at least at an acceptable level, although I advise you to train yourself to move faster. And to use more forceful spells—you should be aware of the fact that I am being easy on you. And work on Occlumency. I'm going to speak with your mother now." And without any other words, she strode from the room, pausing at the doorway to turn around and throw Draco's wand to him. Draco caught it deftly and looked up to see Bellatrix gone.

Muttering slightly under his breath some uncomplimentary things about Bellatrix, Draco got up and left the room. The room was one of the many secret rooms in the lower depths of Malfoy Manor, and Draco gladly breathed in the fresh air that swirled around his face as he emerged from the dank passage. He glanced to one side to see the windows all wide open—Mother had probably chosen to let in some air, he decided, and on a sudden notion pointed his wand at one of the windows and murmured, "Revealo."

A blue shimmer faintly flashed around the edges of the window. Draco pocketed his wand and nodded to himself. Mother was intelligent; she had cast Obscuring charms on all the windows so what was inside could not be seen from without. Having an escaped fugitive walk along the corridors of Malfoy Manor was not particularly conducive to staying out of Azkaban prison, nor escaping the Ministry's suspicious watch. Not, of course, that they could ever escape it.

He strolled down the corridor, looking out the windows every once in a while. It was nearing the end of summer, and the Wiltshire scenery was changing with it. Malfoy Manor had been built centuries ago, by some Malfoy ancestor of whose name Draco could never remember—wasn't it something that started with a "B"?—Byldan Malfoy, that was it. Situated halfway between the town of Steeple Langford and the famed archaeological landmark Stonehenge, it had been home to the Malfoy family for as long as… as long as…

Draco closed his eyes momentarily, allowing the warm rays of sunlight to play across his face, feeling the golden glow pulse against his eyelids…

… Bracken and bramble gleam in the light of the setting sun as they come to a small granite bridge. As they cross the stream, the small, blond haired boy looks down at the water. The life-giving substance gushes swiftly downstream, spraying water on the riverbanks and foaming amidst grey boulders. The boy's eyes follow the stream's route as it winds away and disappears out of sight at a curve, embarking into a valley.

The sun is fast receding in the west. Shadows leap from rock to rock, occasionally getting tangled in the russet and olive slopes. They creep up to trees, before fleeing in a panic from the branches that suddenly and violently swerve down to the ground—there is a strong wind blowing. And the land seems to exude an enchanting gloom and darkness…

Wiltshire, Draco thought abruptly, is beautiful.

His second thought was a wistful one: I wish Father were here.

His third thought was rather more sour: I wonder how many surveillance wards the Ministry has placed around the Manor.

With the occurrence of that thought, he scowled to himself. Draco and Narcissa Malfoy could no longer even take their idyllic trips out into the country; they could not look at the scenery with appreciation under the knowledge they were followed, their every action marked down. And the third member of their family… was gone. Draco thought it almost surprising that the Ministry had not yet decided to put tracking charms on their wands to record what spells they performed. Thank Merlin for that.

Don't be ridiculous, he told himself. This is no time to be reminiscing about scenery—you have a task to perform this year.

In his mind, he envisioned a calendar, on which he crossed off the last day of August. The first school day, the first of September, was circled in green ink. And he thought of necklaces, and poisons, trying desperately not to feel nervous.

So he stepped away from the tantalisingly open spaces, and the halcyon days of his childhood.

oOo

"Scield" is Old English for "shield," from a prehistoric Germanic word, meaning "to split."

"Byldan" is Old English for "to construct a house." Steeple Langford is a real town in Wiltshire, near a river: I looked at the map and the distance from Steeple Langford to Stonehenge, and decided to set Malfoy Manor somewhere in between.

I apologize for the brief update. But real life is shouting for more attention, and I have a math contest (statewide, trig/precalculus) and a piano competition (multi-state, insanely hard to get into the finals—argh!) both this Saturday, and I need to go study and practice…

Since this chapter, I admit, was rather hastily written, if there are any discrepancies or such that you find in this chapter, make a note of it in a review. Of course, if you don't see anything wrong with it, you can review anyway, and praise me to high heaven. ; )

And this question is one I'd like for you to answer in your review, althought you don't necessarily have to if you don't have time: What were your thoughts on HBP when you read it? Did you like it or dislike it, and why? Just out of curiosity.

Next chapter: Hogwarts, here we come! (finally!)

IMPORTANT NOTE: The next update will be the Monday after next; that is, a two week wait instead of the usual one. But as I've said above, real life demands me to go do some work. I'm very sorry about it, but the here and now can't be denied (unfortunately).

Please review!

Talriga